


The Worst Moment

by Ashtylon



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Brief Mention of Suicide, Emotions, Feelings, M/M, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Too much feelings, fite me, needs less feelings, never leave me alone with a blank doc at 3am, vague writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 00:59:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15425526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashtylon/pseuds/Ashtylon
Summary: He'll keep breathing. 'Til his heart stops.





	The Worst Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Based on and inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtZRB3ModaE) beautiful Youtube video. You don't need to watch it to understand my work, but I definitely recommend it.

Every moment had seemed like the worst moment as he was living it.

**_"Steve!”_ **

Watching him fall had been the first moment to be labeled the worst.

It had been immediately usurped by watching the light fade from his eyes, eyes that had always held such fire, such _hope._

Drawing breath became _painful_ , every gust of oxygen in his lungs setting off a chain reaction of stabbing pain and a squeezing vice.

That moment stuck with him as the worst moment for two days – he would have dreamt of nothing but those empty blue eyes, if he had slept in that time. There could be no greater pain, surely.

A deep mahogany wood casket wrapped in an American flag proved him wrong, crisp uniforms bearing it towards its final resting place. Pain bloomed afresh (like it had ever dulled) in his chest, tears falling when he had thought he had no more. Somehow, his body always found more tears for Steve. Someone’s hand was gripping his shoulder, grounding him, keeping him in place when all he longed for was to throw himself into the darkness where they were lowering the best thing that had ever happened to him.

 _That_ was the worst moment. His body couldn’t take any more pain. This _had_ to be the worst of it. Every movement, every shift of muscle, every beat of his heart was _agony._ He wanted to rip the damn thing out of his chest and throw it in after the casket. It belonged to Steve anyway. What good did it do Tony without him?

Still, _still_ , he discovered more pain.

* * *

He hadn’t spoken a word since the day they lost him. The day _he_ lost him. Not to anyone, not even to himself. People ushered him from place to place, depending on where his appearance was needed. SHIELD meetings, press conferences, meetings with the military, meetings with the President himself. Again and again he was offered condolences, and no one ever questioned his answering silence. No one questioned his lack of eye contact.

He went because he was told to. He went because…because what else could he do? He went because _Steve_ would have wanted him to. To do his duty, despite the echoing emptiness in his mind and the hollow, meaningless beating of his heart. So he did.

* * *

Eventually, people forgot that he could still hear, even if he didn’t speak.

_Has anyone heard him say anything?_

_He’s coping the only way he can._

_Is he…?_

Suicidal? No. No, he’s not. The thought has crossed his mind – crosses his mind often. But he would never. Steve wouldn’t want him to do that.

* * *

 They don’t ask him to speak at the fourth press conference. He had walked out of the one before, when one too many insensitive questions were thrown his way. Not that he answered any of them.

* * *

The first bit of sleep he gets since it happened is with his back pressed to cold stone, loose pants stained with dirt and grass on the backside, knees pulled to his chest and face buried in them. A man wakes him some hours later, a security badge glinting on his chest.

_You have to leave, sir. The cemetery is off limits for the night._

Tony just turns his face away and closes his eyes again.

The second time he wakes, a familiar, worried face peers into his own. Everyone looks at him with worry, these days. She guides him up, to the waiting car. He doesn’t resist. It’s just another person, taking him to another place.

* * *

The worst moment wasn’t the moment he lost him.

It wasn’t the moment they buried him.

It wasn’t the press, with their never-ending, infuriating questions.

It was every breath. Every expansion of his lungs, fresh, numbing pain washed over him from head to toe.

But he would keep breathing. Until his heart stopped, he would keep breathing. Not because he wanted to – but because he _deserved_ to. He’ll never atone; he’s not so naïve as to think he can. But every moment of agony reminds him of his mistake. The mistake that cost him… _everything_. Surviving is his punishment, and he deserves every second of it.  
  
  
So he’ll keep breathing. Until his heart stops.


End file.
